Once again, I woke up strapped to a bed in a strange and unfamiliar room. At least this time I was face-up, with just enough give in the restraints to wiggle around a little. The grey walls confirmed I was still in the prison, but a blue curtain enclosed two sides of the bed. An unexpected spsh of colour in what had quickly become my monotonous world.

  My body ached from the beating, though not nearly as much as I’d expected. Breathing came without any sharp stabs, which meant my ribs weren’t cracked too badly, and a gentle twist of my torso didn’t light up any internal arm bells. My arms were covered in dark bruises from shielding my head during the assault, but again, it could’ve been worse. Thick bnkets covered my legs, keeping them warm and, more importantly, out of sight. I gave them a cautious wiggle. No immediate pain, no stiffness. I figured I was better off not looking, just in case.

  I tugged experimentally at the manacles binding me to the bed. No luck. They were tight, locked firm. Still, it was hard not to daydream. I imagined myself slipping free and rummaging through whatever medical supplies the room had tucked away. Clinics always had good gear, and better drugs. If I could get loose, I was certain I could liberate a few helpful items. The idea filled me with a strange, childish excitement, and I twisted harder, trying to angle my thumb just right.

  I was getting somewhere too, I could feel it. If I just squashed the base of my thumb a little more–

  The door creaked open.

  Footsteps approached.

  I froze, cursing the timing, and stared at my hand like it had betrayed me. The curtain whipped open, and I turned to see who it was.

  My jaw hit the floor.

  A woman stared down at me, and it was a face I knew. The stern lines on her face were carved by decades of hard work. Her hair, once dark but now completely grey, was tied into its usual no-nonsense bun. And of course, she was wearing the cssic white apron over a grey dress.

  “Mistress Maggie?!” I blurted, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

  She gave me a firm sp on the wrist. “What do you think, you fool of a boy? I’m doing my job. Don’t tell me that beating rattled your brains more than I thought.” She grabbed my chin and gave my head a little wobble, like she could shake the stupidity loose.

  “You work here?” I asked, still wide-eyed. I had fully come to terms with the idea that I’d never see anyone from my old life again. Seeing her was like cracking open a door I thought had been sealed shut. It didn’t help that the concept of teachers existing outside of school was still mildly unbelievable to me. Did they even sleep? Or eat?

  She let go of my chin and took a step back, hands nding firmly on her hips. “Yes, I work here. Why else would I be wasting my time patching you up?”

  She gave me a look so sharp I almost flinched. “What do I always say about injuries, Mr Horlock?”

  I sighed. “The best way to treat an injury is by not getting injured.”

  She nodded once. No hint of a smile. “So tell me, then. Why am I treating you right now?”

  I looked away. “I got into a fight... but it wasn’t my fault.”

  She let out a long, disappointed tut. “It’s always fighting with you, isn’t it?”

  “Not always,” I muttered.

  “If it’s not fighting, it’s something just as ridiculous,” she snapped. “Some stunt that nds you in my care when I’ve got twenty other things to do.”

  “Sorry, Mistress,” I said, bowing my head.

  There was a moment of silence between us. The kind only possible between someone who’s cleaned your blood off the floor and someone who knows they’ve deserved every bit of the scolding they’re getting.

  She sighed, not out of exasperation this time, but something closer to reluctant concern.

  “I warned you this pce would chew you up,” she said. “You may think you’re clever, Brandon. But in here, clever doesn’t always matter.”

  I didn’t reply. There wasn’t anything I could say. She was right.

  She moved to a tray of supplies and began checking over what I assumed were my charts, muttering to herself as she scribbled a few notes down.

  “You’re lucky,” she said without turning around. “No fractures. No internal bleeding. A couple of nasty bruises, a bent nose, and a bck eye. You’ll live.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t thank me yet. I’m just making sure you stay alive long enough to learn something.”

  She came back over and dabbed some cold ointment under my eye, more tenderly than I expected. Her hands were rough, work-worn, but precise. She’d always had a way of being harsh and caring at the same time, like she was determined to drag you back to health whether you wanted it or not.

  “I can’t watch out for you in here, Brandon,” she said softly. “You’ll need to do that yourself.”

  I nodded, and for once, didn’t argue.

  “We don’t have much time. They wouldn’t usually let me speak to you alone, but I convinced them you’d still be unconscious after the beating you took. And by rights, you should be.” Mistress Maggie’s voice was low, urgent. “You need to be careful using your power in here, Brandon. Do you hear me? If they catch you, it’ll get a lot worse.”

  I frowned, confusion creasing my brow. “I don’t know that I could’ve looked less powerful, Mistress... I mean, yeah, maybe I could’ve taken one of them, but there was no chance against all of them.”

  She cast a worried gnce at the door, but no one came. Not yet.

  “Yes, they said you fought back against Mike. Well done for not using your power there. But it’s the healing that’ll give you away, boy. You’re lucky I was the one on duty. Anyone else, and you’d already be locked down below.”

  My confusion only deepened, and judging by her expression, it was all over my face.

  “That’s where they keep the other mages,” she whispered. “The ones they drain for mana. The batteries.”

  Other mages.

  Mistress Maggie thought I was a mage. The idea was so absurd, I ughed – Until her hand cmped firmly over my mouth.

  “Quiet!” she hissed, eyes flicking to the door. “They need to think you’re still out cold. If they realise you’re awake, they’ll take you down there. It’s not a pce you want to be, Brandon. I’ve been there. They let me in sometimes. To keep someone alive just long enough to keep draining them.” Her voice cracked. She turned away and pressed a hand to her mouth.

  It was ughable, the idea that I was a mage but I believed her about the lower levels, it matched what Erick had told me. And if they were both telling the truth, if this pce really was using people as magical batteries then it was despicable. An absolute tragedy. It also expined the heavy guard presence I’d been seeing.

  I reached out instinctively to take her hand, but the manacles yanked my wrist short with a cnk of chains. We both froze. No footsteps. No arm.

  “Mistress,” I said gently, hoping to ease her worries, “don’t worry. I’m not a mage. They can’t send me down there. I’d be as good as filling up a battery as you would”

  She didn’t look reassured. Her frown only deepened. “Of course you are. I saw you heal.”

  Now it was my turn to frown. “I think maybe… seeing that pce’s taken a toll on you. I only recen–”

  She punched me in the leg.

  Hard.

  I flinched. “Ow! I’m injured, remember?”

  “Don’t patronise me, you little shit.” Her voice was steel now. “I saw you heal. I’m not asking you to tell me what your power is. And I’m not going to tell anyone. But you need to be smarter about hiding it.”

  “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, eyes wide. “I swear. I don’t have any powers. I don’t even know how I’d heal like that.”

  Her gre held for a long second before her expression softened. “You’re serious.”

  I nodded.

  She stepped forward and, to my surprise, hugged me. It felt awkward with me lying chained to a bed, unable to return the gesture but there was comfort in it all the same. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” she whispered. “And in a pce like this.” She sniffed, then pced a hand gently on my shoulder. “You are a mage, Brandon. You have some kind of gift. I can’t tell you what it is exactly, but I know it’s real.”

  I opened my mouth to object again, but she cut me off with a raised hand.

  “We don’t have time to debate this. I’m amazed we haven’t been interrupted already. But listen to me: I saw what you looked like when they dragged you in. You were half-dead. On death’s door.”

  That aligned with my own memories. The distant fshes of pain, of boots and fists and blood.

  “Maybe it just looked worse than it was? They were trying to hold back.” I offered, though even as I said it, I knew how flimsy it sounded.

  “No,” she said firmly. “You weren’t breathing properly. You were coughing up blood. Your pulse was barely there. I was sure I’d lose you.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Well… I feel okay now.”

  “Exactly.” Her tone was clipped. “That’s the point. When I cut away your tunic to start cleaning your wounds, I saw them fade. Every time I passed the sponge over your chest, the bruises lightened. The bleeding stopped. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I instinctively reached for my ribs. They felt fine.

  “Mistress… are you sure it wasn’t you doing the healing?”

  She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might stick. “Yes, Brandon, I’m sure. You kept healing throughout the night. I wasn’t doing anything but watching. They know I volunteer at the academy, so they let me stay. Said it was just until you stabilised.” She leaned in. “But my shift ends soon. Someone else will be in here after me. You need to act worse than you are. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, but disbelief still clung to me like a wet cloak.

  “But how?” I asked. “How could I possibly have power? No one in my family–”

  “Anyone can have power,” she interrupted. “It’s just the wealthy who are allowed to show it. The rest of you? You need to learn to hide it. Or you’ll get hunted for it.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “I know it’s confusing. I know it doesn’t make sense. But you must trust me on this, Brandon. Don’t test your power. Don’t draw attention. If the guards find out… they’ll turn you into a tool. A thing.”

  She leaned in even closer. “And you won’t come back from that.”

  I stared at her, heart thudding, mind racing.

  Because now... I wasn’t so sure she was wrong.

  “I don’t understand how I could use magic if I was nearly dead,” I said, frowning. “Surely I’d have to choose to do it?”

  “Not necessarily,” Mistress Maggie replied, her voice low. “I’m no expert, but I’ve treated mages before. Many of them have supernatural healing abilities. Some recover from injuries that would kill anyone else. It’s one of the reasons I’m rarely allowed down to the lower levels.”

  She gnced behind her at the door again. Still shut. No footsteps. No interruption yet.

  “I read your file,” she added. “It mentioned the whipping… and how fast you recovered. Has anything like that happened before?”

  I thought back. The train fight had gone far better than expected. I’d chalked it up to my build and skill, but in hindsight, they should’ve hurt me more. Their blows barely lingered in my memory. Then there was the face cut which was practically gone by the time I took the bandage off. I hadn’t even considered it strange.

  The whipping. The doctor had commented on my rapid healing, but I’d assumed it was thanks to youth or good medicine.

  And Maggot – he’d definitely broken a rib on arrival, but by the time I was in my cell, I could breathe again. Then there was the fight with Mike and his crew. They were full-grown men, not kids like me. I should’ve been destroyed.

  “Yeah…” I said slowly, disbelief creeping in. “There’ve been a few. More than I thought.”

  She reached for my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled gently. “I know this isn’t how you’d want to find out. Learning you have power while you’re locked in a pce like this… it’s not ideal. But on the bright side, if you keep your head down, you’ll get out of here and you’ll have decades more ahead of you. Mages tend to live long lives.”

  A mage. Either that or she was wildly misinformed. But I couldn’t shake her conviction, or the growing list of evidence. My thoughts fshed back to Erick. I wished I’d asked more about mages when I had the chance.

  She was right about one thing – this was not the pce to experiment. Not with the risk of being discovered. Not if they had a floor full of imprisoned magic users. If I had power, I’d need to find a way to use it in secret. And pray it wasn’t loud.

  “Do you know how I can use it?” I asked hopefully.

  “No, child,” she said. “That’s not something I’d be able to teach.”

  “What about the people below?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think you could ask them?”

  She shook her head immediately. “I’m sorry, Brandon. It’s too risky. If anyone found out I was asking questions… they wouldn’t just come for me. They’d come for everyone I’ve ever spoken to.”

  I was disappointed, but I understood. The conspiracy against common-born mages was vast and well-hidden. It was dangerous just being suspected. Getting involved would be suicidal.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I just got excited.”

  She gave me a sad smile and pulled a small vial from her apron pocket. “This is a sedative. Strong enough to put you under for a good while. I’ve added more than the standard dose, just in case your healing fights it off.”

  My eyebrows raised slightly, but I nodded.

  “When the shift change comes, I’ll pour half of this into your mouth,” she continued, “and leave the rest with you. You’ll need to take the rest if you wake up before the next healer arrives.”

  “Got it,” I said. “If I wake up alone, I’ll stay still and take the rest when I’m sure it’s safe.”

  “And if they catch you awake?”

  I gave her a grim smile. “I pretend to be in pain.”

  “Exactly.” She pointed the vial at me like a warning. “They’ll poke and prod. You have to sell it. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” I said.

  She held my gaze a moment longer, then let out a long sigh. “I’m gd you’re okay, Brandon. But you have to be careful now. No more fighting. Do you hear me?”

  “Yeah. No more fighting.”

  It was the same ritual every time. She’d patch me up, I’d promise not to get hurt again, and we both knew it was a lie. Still, I appreciated the familiarity. Even here, even now.

  “Can you tell me more about the people below?” I asked quietly. “I want to know what I’m risking.”

  She hesitated, her face clouding. “It’s not something you want to know. Trust me. It makes up here feel like a holiday.” Her voice dropped. “Don’t even think about trying to get down there. I know what you’re like.”

  I didn’t get a chance to respond.

  Footsteps.

  She moved quickly, uncorked the vial, and poured half of it into my mouth. It tasted awful. Bitter, thick, and burning. Still, I swallowed it and closed my eyes. She pressed the vial into my hand and tucked it under the bnket just before the door opened.

  A man’s voice greeted her. Deep. Calm. Probably the next healer.

  They spoke quietly, professionally. Mistress Maggie told him I was comatose, though recovering. I kept my breathing shallow and even, letting the sedative drag me under.

  The st thing I felt was her hand brushing mine one final time.

  And if I really was a mage… sleep might be the only safe pce left.